Intrigue: Schemes and Subjugation
by ayaheartright
Summary: Prequel and Parellel to Checkmate within the "Schemes and Subjugation," universe, with Schneizel as the main character. Although containing smut, this fic focuses more on Schneizel's hidden participation during R1, and politics that were off screen during most of Checkmate. Schneizel x Harem. Warnings and more details in first chappie
1. Ghost Stories

A/N:

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Even my OC is borrowed from Allora Gale :)

Warnings: Mental Illness, BDSM, Rape, Incest, possible gore, attempted suicide, and a lot of Religious Stuff, including Geass Order... Probably more too as the fic gets longer

As much as I did not want this to turn into a stand-alone side story, it seems like I didn't get my way, like always. This fic is a prequel/parallel to it's sister story (har-har) Checkmate: Schemes and Subjugation. Now, I'm not going to say you can read it without prior knowledge of the events of the other fic, and I'm not going to say it's required either. My goal is to have it be where if someone wants hardcore pr0n for 5 chapters they can read Checkmate, or choose not to and read this one... but I'm a dirty fucking liar so don't believe a word I say. Plus shameless promotion time... Read my other fic :) I've categorized it as "Complete." When I decide to continue that plotline I may or may not open up and continue writing in that one or I may do the same as here, and start a new fic since it will, essentially, be a new book in a series too. Let's see if this Author's note makes sense. Shoot me a PM if it does not. Spoiler warnings to the other fic too and also in my footnotes, where I make note to references. CM=Checkmate.

Oh yes. To readers finding this fic first, besides "Zero's Legacy," all of my CG fics are within a fem!Lelouch universe. However, Feminine Rebellion has little to do with this series. Any references made to that book is purely out of fun or laziness.

* * *

 **Ghost Stories**

The commonly used definition for the verb "obsess," is to "preoccupy or fill the mind of (someone) continually, intrusively, and to a troubling extent." This context came about within the last century or two, and did not accurately depict the situation. A more proper analysis, going back to the root of said word, and tracing its usage throughout history, is a much more practical. Without a proper understanding, it was easy to be confused, and take things out of context.

The first part comes from the Latin word obsidere. Ob, which meant opposite, and sidere, meaning to sit were the origins of the word. It literally meant to sit upon something. This later formed into obsession, and in English translated to "obsess" meaning to be sieged, taken hold of by an entity. A few centuries later, it meant to be "haunted." Some accounts say it meant "hostile actions by evil spirits," and that was Schneizel's favorite usage, considering his situation. With the invent of psychology the word expanded to eventually mean the bastardized version of the modern day.

There was a distinct possibility if fate arranged events differently this deviation wouldn't have frustrated him. If he enrolled in his language studies course before the invasion of Area 11, and the subsequent 'death' of his half siblings, he wouldn't have found the Middle English version so applicable to his situation. He wasn't so much constantly thinking of Lelouch as he was haunted by Lulu. She was his favorite sister, and arguably the only one that mattered.

The first time he noticed an attraction to her audacity was when she was four. Lelouch snuck into his room because of some mundane childish reason: he broke a promise. [1] Humans always break promises; it was a fact of life, and one she could have benefited in learning. He was fuming when he found his room in a giant mess. Schneizel yelled at her, the cracking of his immature voice only made his fury even more ferocious. Rage wasn't something uncommon for him at the time. It was the abnormal ability to feel calmed by her crying that was different.

The way her large dark lavender eyes sparkled was mesmerizing. Her wails sent shivers down his spine and a heat to his baby faced cheeks. He attributed the sensation to his sadistic nature, and not the notion that her childish behavior excited him. She was a child. Only someone completely and utterly unstable could look at one with lust. Schneizel wasn't that deranged. The tantrum only brought a smile to his lips, and a desire to play chess with her. He wasn't disappointed by the eccentric emotions she displayed. It was quite the contrary.

The idea of her as an adult haunted him.

For that intensity to be contained within a form with long legs that could wrap around his waist, it was too much. He did the only thing that made sense, given the situation. Schneizel separated Lelouch and Lulu, creating two similar personalities. Whenever Lelouch would do something that fascinated him, it would translate into his fantasies, usually a more mature version of the act. He cycled through fleeting emotions of both ecstasy, and anger of the prospect of her aging. As Schneizel grew, so did his tastes, often to more niche urges. It would be hypocritical to judge similar actions. He was hypocritical by nature, but he didn't want to be with Lulu.

 _2006:_

 _"Isn't role-playing something that comes when a relationship is stale? I mean. I will do what you ask, obviously; you are the second Prince… I just." She looked down at the small case. Two silicone hydrogel lenses looked back. The dark lavender, almost amethyst shade of the iris was a stark difference to her own greyish blue hue. "I just always thought my eye color was my best feature considering it is so rare."_

 _"They are quite wonderful." Schneizel said, lovingly caressing her temple. "It's just -"_

 _He scooted closer on the bench, and kissed the corner of her eyelid. They were alone. The lampposts of the quad were becoming aglow as the setting changed to dusk; the rest of the students were mostly in their respective dorms, preparing for midterms. Her hideous blue-grey eyes seemed luminescent against the sunset. They were desirable only due to the lack of melatonin present. The pigment would make less of an impact beneath the contact._

 _Schneizel sighed, and averted his gaze. To the upperclassman such a gesture appeared bashful, innocent, and adorable. Her gaze followed his, surely not seeing the splendor that caught the young prince's attention._

 _The hot sun caused most of the environment to dry despite the afternoon downpour, and yet the lone flower, crowded by differing blossoms of red, yellow, and orange, retained liquid. It seeped through the individual petals like teardrops. The leftover moisture caused the purple to sparkle in the most mesmerizing fashion. Haunting. Those eyes haunted him, drawing a reaction from nothing, a flower. He bit his lip at the memory, disguising his flush as something more fitting towards the situation._

 _She gave him a weak smile, clearly offended, but unable to deny his request. Her lustrous black hair fell forward when she turned to face him. Her face blushed to match his, and she handed the small case back with nervousness._

 _"Um. I've never put contacts in so if you want me to wear them now... You're going to have to do it."_

 _He nodded, holding her eyelid open when she instinctively fought to blink against the invasion. The false iris floated against the whites of her eye, and Schneizel kept his position longer than necessary. His cool, uninterested aura shook with barely contained excitement._ _ **She**_ _was the only thing that could do that to him. He was dead otherwise. That lid was released, and he moved on to her left eye._

 _The amount of time it took for her to press the heels of her hands against the area, and shake away minor discomfort was torture. Then again, the few tears, shed due to the foreign object and prolonged exposure to air, were fitting. When she eventually opened her eyes his disappointment should have been evident. What looked right floating against clear saline solution, and the sclera, became sullied over Northern European taint. His stare contained an intensity near unheard of from Schneizel. The teenager girl didn't read between the lines correctly, given her coy flirting._

 _She pouted, and twirled the ends of her long strands around her pointer finger. "What do you-"_

 _"Close." He interrupted, trailing his fingers from her jawline to the hem of her blouse. The tie of her school uniform was undone, and the blouse was unbuttoned enough to reveal ample cleavage and a black lace bra. "Near ideal. However, for now; Lulu."_

 _"Lulu? Is that a pet name?" She giggled._

Throughout the years, Schneizel found himself spending an absurd amount of money on the manufacturing of perfectly shaded contacts for every eye color. It was never enough.

* * *

hThe idea of Lelouch changing, of becoming less pure - using the old French meaning of the word, was intolerable. His dearest sister could never be less simple, absolute, or unalloyed. The idea of her acting in reservation, of poise, to wall off her intensity, seemed wrong. It could be considered sinful even, if he believed in such things. He began devoting more and more time away at school, distancing himself from disappointment, of the day she became dull. At least it proved Kanon wrong; his infatuations weren't fleeting considering he felt immense dread over the idea of Lelouch becoming like him for years. She would become reserved. He knew she could never actually be like him. His mother noticed a lack of passion as young as grade school. Still, it was a paranoia that never ceased.

The reason Lelouch was exiled was the same reason he loved her, and the instance that incited such an epiphany. Illusion and fantasy morphed into one pint sized form; he couldn't separate them. Hearing of her irrational, self-righteous behavior caused Schneizel heart to skip a beat, and become arrhythmic. At least, it felt that way at the time. He clutched the lapel of his blazer and his face became flushed. For the first time in his memory, he was at a loss for words. For a moment he wondered if it was a heart attack, despite his young age.

When Guinevere, that gossiping bitch, gave the news of Lelouch's outburst he knew she would never change. The staged death of Marianne, a life shattering event that would leave other children docile, and thinking to please, made Lelouch, no, Lulu, even more of a firecracker. That day his fantasy became a reality: he admitted his desire for her, and not simply a figment of his imagination.

Patience was a virtue.

It's funny, really, that such a person never came to be. His idea of her adult self was nothing like the real **Lulu**. The physical attributes he envisioned were closer to Euphie, or Cornelia. Neither of the Li Britannia sisters interested him, nor any other member of the family. His incestuous urges were limited to her. Schneizel breathed a sigh of relief after the shock of Lulu's exile wore off. It was better that way. It afforded him a few years to be in Pendragon without seeing her. Even if their father shipped her off to boarding school in a different colony, she would still be home for the holidays. Life as a political hostage was the best way to ensure she would go through puberty, becoming the woman of his dreams, without being defiled ahead of time. She would be a present, neatly wrapped under the tree, waiting for him to become powerful enough to bring back, and open.

Her hauntings became worse once she died, or Schneizel believed that she died.

Nunnally was nothing more than a footnote compared to the bold black letters on crisp eggshell paper. The words seemed to jump off the page. "The Vi Britiannia children were missing." Lulu was lost somewhere in a warzone. Clearly she thought herself abandoned, discarded due to dwindled status and favor. Schneizel wasn't even afforded a chance; it wasn't supposed to be like this. He clutched the note in his fist, shaking with rage. Toward whom such wrath should be directed, he wasn't certain.

Genbu Kururugi, the obvious culprit if he were to believe such propaganda, was already deceased. "He stabbed himself with a knife," Kanon had said. The international media was making it look like Honor Suicide. "In order avoid defeat in battle, and dishonor the Japanese people, the Prime Minister took his own life. It was all to show his resolve in the stance of absolute surrender." The headlines were openly skewed.

If that man had any honor he would have adhered to the deal. He would have called for an all-out resistance, and then wait until the Britannia forces ran out of sakuradite needed to power the prototype Knightmare frames. The clunky, cumbersome method of extracting the mineral would not be fast enough to keep up with demand. The Britannian military wouldn't have been able to keep up a war on so many fronts with only the Chapman mines, and minor other locations, to supply the ore.

This was the reason the invasion was orchestrated in such a fashion: to limit the last remaining member of that household from gaining power again. When the Emperor allowed the family to keep a small plot of land, he never expected it to be hiding enough wealth to expand. Within a generation the cast offs acquired enough land and esteem to once again rule over the Oregon duchy. No good deed goes unpunished. Charles ZI Britannia was punished for sparing the bastard son of his uncle. Unbeknownst to most who did not act as the man's shadow, this was what sparked the cold exterior. The gentle, loving father Schneizel could barely recall was locked away, shown only secretly, after the coronation.

It was only Schneizel's wit that allows him to see the real reason why the children were sent away. Lulu and Nunnally were given as a measure of good faith, the latter offered in political marriage. The armistice was supposed to be signed after a stalemate. Genbu would grant unlimited mining rights, and Japan would be spared. It was a dirty deal. Sill, it was better than the alternative. Most importantly the children should have been kept safe. Instead those Japanese dogs were slaughtered, and turned into Numbers. The Prime Minister of Japan had to be a cruel man to choose such an action.

He wasn't as cruel as Schneizel's own father, the Emperor. The man was admired before the happening provided a lackluster search for his children. As a boy, Schneizel wanted to be just like him, except he never would have sacrificed Lulu for sakuradite. Even with a fascination with technology, he couldn't understand. Charles sent the Vi Britannia children away because he claimed to love them. However, he clearly didn't know what love meant. Otherwise he would have called off the invasion until his children were found, or, at least, searched for them with longing afterwards. They were both claimed dead near instantly after the end of the war. It didn't make any sense, unless Charles knew something he didn't.

Perhaps it was so.

Perhaps their father murdered Lulu to preserve his love for her. Schneizel did enjoy slitting the throats of lovers before he got to know them too well, making them real, and not a fantasy. He too wanted Lulu to remain constant, like the love in Shakespeare's sonnet 116. Truly such a state cannot be attained by mortals, meaning, "No man ever loved."[2] Schneizel wouldn't admit that it was one in the same. The sense of betrayal was too deep for such petty reasons for forgiveness.

The similarities were dutifully overlooked, spoken only to Kanon. Kanon was his only lover whom was kept. The man was the opposite of Schneizel, empathetic to a fault. He appeared to be able to feel the emotions in Schneizel that the young adult lacked, suggesting new ways to find entertainment, a rush, or to pay homage to Lulu. Throughout the years Schneizel tried many methods of creation and destruction. Many of his fetishes were discovered during college; however, he never discovered a way to turn a look alike into Lulu. No matter how much he manipulated, it was never enough.

 _2012:_

 _"What should I do, Kanon?" Schneizel inquired, not bothering to assist in cleaning the room. He spread out on the black silk sheets of the king sized bed, similar to how the other man was positioned mere moments prior. Except Schneizel remained unbound, and he faced the ceiling, searching for the answers to his question within subtly patterned plaster ceiling._

 _Privacy wasn't the only perk of moving off campus. Space for a larger mattress was the deciding factor. He didn't care to keep his sexual interests private; his whips, chains, and spreader bars were often left out in the dorms. Only Kanon cared to put them away in the cherry stained chest. That habit of his remained after the two settled into the Victorian row house their sophomore year. It continued to thrive years later too._

 _Pastel purple eyes peeled away from the, possibly, imaginary designs to meet concerned oceanic blue. A small smile accentuated Schneizel's newly squared jaw, having grown into his figure later than most. With surprisingly swift movement but not surprisingly strength, he pulled the smaller man back down, running his finger over the trail of bite marks and welts on his slender back. The answers were not there either, however, the sight was much more aesthetically pleasing._

 _Schneizel enjoyed fucking, but had no intentions of being the one whom was fucked. He was more masculine, with sculpted muscles thanks to an affinity towards exercising. It was a slightly more productive means of alleviating his antsy nature. Needless to say, Schneizel was also of higher social standing. He was barely older, but pederasty [3] wasn't a fetish, or a lifestyle he wished to pursue._

 _"Try dating other men?" Kanon suggested after a pregnant pause. He didn't mean it. His body, which was usually left limp and sated, became rigid under Schneizel's tender touch. The action was not in the setting that he was ready for another round either. "Maybe you just don't like women."_

 _"No. It's not that." Schneizel mused, brushing the bangs away from Kanon's forehead. "I adore women, although none have captivated me enough to remain interesting. Even ones who are the complete opposite become stale and boring after too long. They all give in; it is not just women. Perhaps you are right, that I simply put_ _ **her**_ _on too much of a pedestal. Humans always want what they cannot have, and what is more unattainable than the deceased? Besides, I meant what I said that you are the only man I want, Kanon. No one other than you could understand me."_

 _He thumbed the white leather around his lover's neck. The jewelry was normally hidden from view by the younger man's shirt collar, revealed only to him. Its significance was deeper than that of a wedding ring, as it was actually voluntary for both parties. His betrothal was anything but; a political marriage meant to buy favor over Odysseus, not that the older sibling needed much convincing to abdicate the throne when the time came. It was of little consequence. He pined over the ghost of a dead woman - a dead girl, really. It seemed fitting for him to marry someone experiencing the fate he wanted to save Lulu from. If nothing else, it would keep the Lady Chapman alive. She was boring from the beginning, and positively predictable. There was no luster to preserve. At least, none that she showed him. Perhaps it was a perfect match._

That conversation was an omen for the future. Right when he was about to sign the marriage papers, someone, or rather, something sparked Schneizel's curiosity: The death of his younger brother, Clovis, by terrorists. He didn't watch the broadcast live, but the vibrations of the vigilante's announcement caught his attention. For Cornelia to be so enraged that she lost all control, calling him to complain, like old times, spoke volumes. He couldn't help but dig through recordings to see this "Zero."

It was an odd sensation; there a slight rise in blood pressure seeing Kururugi's escape on the screen. There was something about that sylphlike form that brought a sense of déjà vu. Schneizel could practically feel the smug satisfied smirk radiating through computer monitor. The desire to pause and analyze the mannerisms was pushed back in lieu of watching the most recent development. Zero's announcement of the Black Knights brought about something he didn't feel in almost a decade.

Euphoria.

Schneizel held onto the arms of his velvet reclining chair with white knuckles as the camera panned from a mass rafts, filled with freed hostages, floating in the lake to the newly formed Black Knights. He watched that scene several times, each instance focusing on a different quirk: a slight fidget of the fingers when Zero thrust her arms out, forcing the cape of that black king piece inspired costume to billow outward, the tone of the voice, hidden behind a program mimicking Carl Kassel; the fact that it was the radio announcer's voice in the first place. His suspicions only became worse with each time the video was replayed. That character...

"I will return them to you now. People of the world! Fear us, and seek us out! We are the Order of the Black Knights! We Black Knights are allies of all those who are unarmed! Be they Elevens, or Britannians! The cowardly Japan Liberation Front took Britannian civilians as hostages, and murdered them cruelly. It was a meaningless act. Thus I have punished them.

The former Viceroy, Clovis, was the same. He ordered the slaughter of unarmed Elevens. I cannot ignore such atrocities. Thus I punished him. I do not refuse to fight. However, I will never allow the strong to bully the weak! The only ones who can shoot are those who are prepared to be shot by others.

When the powerful attack the powerless, we will appear again! No matter how powerful our enemy may be. You with power fear me! You without power, seek me! We, the Black Knights, will judge the sins of the world!"

This person was audacious. If Schneizel held any superstitious beliefs he would have said the masked terrorist was a phantom. It was impossible, and a mere coincidence. There was no way that Lulu lived. He would have known. It was all just wishful thinking. Still, the similarities of speech, and likeness to the variation of cops and robbers Lulu loved to play in the courtyard was indeed haunting.

It was Kanon who took the remote out of his hands hours later. Schneizel missed his afternoon appointments, locked up in the study of his newly built Avalon. His normally composed features remained ashen. Those pastel eyes, on the other hand, were bloodshot. Slightly shaking, Schneizel ran his right hand through his hair, muttering a dishonest apology for concerning his mate.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Kanon said, not realizing the gravity of that statement.

"If only such things existed." Schneizel mused, lifting himself up onto dead legs. The feeling of pins and needles shot through the extremities as he stood. "These last seven years it's as if I were a corpse pretending to be alive. [3]" He clutched the fabric over his beating heart. Had it always been beating? Of course. It was just never noticed. "Only a ghost could change that."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Footnotes:**

 **[1] Reference to flashback in chapter 13, CM**

 **[2] Quote from the sonnet. I seriously wanted to add the whole thing. I adore it.**

 **[3] Reference to R1 episode 7, when Lelouch is arguing with C.C.**

 **Fun fact/foreshadowing (because I love it) Anyone notice that the only time Schneizel called Lulu "Lelouch" was when he was scary mad in chapter 7(?), CM**


	2. Domestic Disputes

**Domestic Disputes**

"You need professional help." Kanon suggested, not at all joking.

Schneizel cut into the grilled duck, meticulously taking care to get a proportionate amount of arugula, caramelized pear, chèvre, and the protein on to one forkful. He used the timing of the comment to his advantage; it was rude to talk while chewing. The complimenting flavors went sour in his mouth, with the bitterness of the leafy green overwhelming everything else. This could have possibly been his own sentiment also.

"You were a psychology major." He said eventually, taking a leisurely sip of pinot noir to wash down the taste.

The silence that followed would have been deafening for anyone else. The second prince tapped his fingers on the table during the rest of the meal. Kanon barely batted an eye at the gesture, knowing full well that it was borne of restlessness, rather than subtle intimidation. He could never intimidate Kanon. Even when they first met, it was obvious that overly polite exterior was just that: a shell. Such formalities faded near instantly. The moment the two shook hands, it was as if they knew one another an entire lifetime, or multiple ones. It was a romantic encounter, to say the least.

"Schneizel..."

It wasn't the reprimanding tone that brought his attention back to his companion. The bright childish colors of the Gerber Daisies in the garden would have kept his interest much longer if not for the demanding kick to his shin. There was no purple this year. Whether Kanon took careful consideration in planting or there happened to be other reasons, he wasn't certain. Based on the plant hardiness scale, the flowers should be perennials. Did the same color bloom every year? Despite his appreciation for plants, botany was never a science he studied.

It was a moot point considering the couple rarely spent time in the row house near the Imperial University since the Avalon was built. Schneizel was too preoccupied with his new technology along with other things. Nevertheless, of all his vacation homes, this one would always be the most visited. There was something about the synergy of the efficiently sized condo, located in the old, original capital of the Homeland, on the east coast.

Perhaps the architecture called to him, a quirky mixture of Italianate and 'Colonial,' as it was called at the time. Unlike the other units, this one was perfectly preserved, still sporting many original features from before Washington's Rebellion. The terrace of the garden was one of them; the beams were held together with wooden nails. Surrounding the herb garden, near the back of the property, was old brown bricks, clearly formed by hand.

Truthfully, he purchased the house because he learned something the structure used to accommodate an interesting tenant. It was where Kanon's ancestor, Benjamin Franklin, lived prior to shedding his name, taking up the title of Earl. There was something about his descendant bowing down to him, a member of the royal family, in the study, specifically, that to this day sent shivers down his spine. Schneizel was a hopeless romantic at heart.

His gaze bore into the depth those ocean blue orbs with more fervency.

83 seconds; it wasn't a record, not by a long shot. Schneizel exhaled, and blinked, running both hands through his hair. Pausing mid motion, he leaned over, and placed both elbows on the table. A daring smile played on his lips despite the loss. Kanon continued to stare, however, he did blink once or twice after his victory.

"Hmmm?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I didn't say anything." Schneizel drawled. He barely fought the urge to play footsie. It was impossible for one to frighten the other, and yet, whenever Kanon tried, it had an effect. Not the one the man desired. Staring contests were always the most arousing. "You started it." He continued, waiting.

"I'm serious." The assistant sighed, standing from the table.

"So am I. I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

Kanon scoffed. "That's a blatant lie." He muttered, sulking as he walked out of the patio, and through the glass doors.

Schneizel uncharacteristically stammered. His Kanon, who normally didn't give two shits about these types of things, was _jealous_. It could be veiled under the guise of concern; the younger man was always concerned about something or another. He didn't bother to keep track of it all. This wasn't his usual "I think you're taking it a little too far," tactic. They never fought about his obsession. It was merely a fact of life. It was a part of Schneizel that would never cease. Nothing could ever change that.

The fact that it was getting worse need not be mentioned.

He did mention it.

"I'm not wrong." He said cooly, leaning up against the doorframe once he entered the study.

Kanon lifted a single eyebrow but didn't look up from the laptop. He wasn't at the desk. There was an unspoken rule that only Schneizel used the light varnished oversized oak piece of furniture. It wasn't a power play so much as Kanon finding it much more comfortable to do his work lounging on the sofa instead of sitting straight backed on the matching leather chair.

"I didn't say you were." The glare from the computer reflected off the wire rimmed reading glasses. Schneizel curled and relaxed his toes, before pushing off the wall to walk towards the center of the room. Kanon was obviously finished. He slammed the laptop down on the end table. "Meat wallet."

Schneizel froze mid stride, feeling his entire body go numb from the chill of that scowl. It was angrier than the one in the courtyard, which was easily have been misconstrued as playful. Twisting this instance to his advantage would be damned near impossible. Those two words, the most important words in his lover's vocabulary, picked out a decade ago, immobilized him.

"That's a little preemptive, don't you think?"

"No. We both know you would try to seduce me otherwise."

"I still could..." It was an idle threat. Disregarding a safe word or phrase was the worst way to break a person's trust. Game over. He'd done it before, many times, actually. It was one of his biggest thrills at the end: taking the last bit of freedom felt by his victims. "This is only the second time you've ever said that. I was starting to think you forgot."

"Don't change the topic."

"And what topic is that anyway?"

The ten-inch height difference was barely noticeable by the time Kanon stood an arm's length away. Unnerving. Most people would think that he was the one in power, being the dominant one in the relationship. It was the opposite. The leather collar around The Earl's neck, in many ways, symbolized his ability to wrap the second most powerful person in all of Britannia around his little finger with two words. He had the final say in everything. Kanon might have marks from a physics whip on his back. Schneizel was whipped in a more domestic manner.

"You are letting your delusions get in the way of your plan. Our plan. You can't tell me that the identity of test subject was a mere coincidence. I don't mind you searching for answers. At least you are interested in something. However..." He paused before uttering something akin to blasphemy. "You can't lose sight of the goal because you want **her** to still be alive. There are more important things going on here."

"I agree." Schneizel smirked, hovering his hand over Kanon's cheek. The smaller man didn't lean in to be touched. His fingers itched to stroke that fair skin so intensely the digits practically burned. He wouldn't without permission now. That was the agreement set in high school. "I won't let a ghost keep me from taking control of the entire world. Gottwald being the test subject was unintentional. Don't you find it odd though? The man throws away everything to aid Zero in the release of officer Kururugi, and then denies everything the next day. He refused any connection, going so far as to disobey orders in hopes of regaining glory. Somehow he survived long enough to miraculously be picked up by our scientists. Taking into account -"

"You think geass could be involved? The holding tank, or 'poisonous gas,' was what was being used to transport C.C. to Narita."

"It's possible." He mused, unfazed by the interruption.

His assistant already knew about his theory and his longing. He hoped that the former margrave's previous loyalties was somehow put into play, seemed to be less and less likely as time past. The name sounded familiar, and Schneizel couldn't hide his surprise from Kanon once the results of his investigation came back.

Transparency was, after all, the backbone of their relationship.

It was no wonder why Schneizel remembered the man. He was a guard at Aires Villa during the time of Marianne's assassination. Not only that, but he was one of the first personnel that Cornelia assigned after taking charge of security for the zodiac mansions. The prince had helped with the interview process for the security of his mother, himself, and, of course, Lelouch. They met on multiple occasions, one of which being when Jeremiah begged to be reassigned to Area 11 in order to redeem himself.

It seemed so far fetched. Kanon's suggestion was much more likely. Zero had come in contact with the witch, and gained the power of kings. The theatrics, although eerie, were not exclusive to his dearest sister. She was dead. No amount of wishing could alter the past; only the results of Code Ragnarok would do that. If he could synthesize the genetics of that witch then he stand with or against his father and uncle at that place. He wouldn't need to sacrifice anything in order to activate the weapon, or one of the other functions of the occult weapon. Fifty years of planning could be out measured by fifteen months of research and development if everything had gone according to his calculations. Clovis even located a Thought Elevator that appeared to be unknown to the Emperor.

Life was undeniably not that easy. In hopes for a silver lining, he yearned for some divine intervention. Schneizel rarely gave religion much thought, especially after a grown man trapped in a child's body revealed the mysteries to him. God, he deduced, was an entity contrived to answer the "meaning of life" for those unable to find that response within themselves. This perception evolved after science was able to explain natural phenomenon once attributed to celestial beings. It was nothing more than false promises and bedtime stories for the faithful. The collective consciousness surely did not contain a will. It was impartial to the struggles of the individual. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there was indeed more than met the eye.

"I've found myself wondering," he confessed. "Maybe I was wrong." Kanon's shocked face said more than words, urging him to continue. " I always agreed with nihilism that 'nothing's connected. It's all random and cruel. It doesn't matter what you do.' But now… Gottwald is a sign, right? Because if he isn't...then nothing in this world makes any sense to me. I'm fucked."[1]

"I've told you before, I doubt your coincidence is meaningful." Kanon smiled sympathetically, finally pressing his face into Schneizel's palm.

"Do you really think that? Or are you just quoting?"

"Maybe a little of both. I do think he's about as meaningful as that tall African guy. That is to say, not very meaningful for your situation at all."

Schneizel laughed and slammed his mouth against Kanon's, instantly demanding access with his tongue. "I hope not." He said against swollen lips, ripping open the fresh pressed Armani dress shirt. A few buttons flew off with enough force to ping off the full-length mirror on the south side of the room. "Don't worry. I won't start thinking that everything is connected to the point of fostering compassion. Here, they say everything's connected in the blanket. [1] Even if that's true it doesn't matter because everyone knows, don't they ... that people are driven by their own desires. The lust that dwells within the soul of man cannot be denied." [2]

"Lust." Kanon repeated breathlessly, gripping Schneizel's broad shoulders as a sadistically gentle hand crept into his trousers and stroked. It was a horrible contrast to the other one that held his hips hard enough to definitely leave a bruise.

The rest of the conversation was communicated without words. Their fight was paltry compared to most, and yet monumental to Schneizel. Previously any disagreement was over something trivial: should they get a cat, another vacation home, and the complications of murdering the staff. Kanon was still salty that breakfast for lunch was taken off the menu; it was never the same after Marissa disappeared. Theoretical physics, philosophy, and anything scholarly were results driven. It didn't matter if they disagreed on the details, so long as the conclusion was the same.

Searching for Zero's identity and experimenting with cybernetics was not mutually exclusive. He could convince anyone other than Kanon that his fascination was derived from his research on Affective Control Theory.

The phantom wasn't a distraction.

"Condom." Kanon commanded, blindly digging through the top draw in the opposite side of the furniture. He stood on his toes to stretch, doing his best to ignore the probing at his entrance. For their dual love of luxury, Schneizel refused lubricant, at least with him. Saliva would always be a reminder of their first time; a clumsy, rushed, and ill prepared event.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." Schneizel chuckled, using his ascot to bind Kanon's writs the LB Brass pull of the center 'drawer.' There was nothing to open. The hardware was mere decoration. It was still put to good use. "My test results came back clean again."

He cupped that artfully angular jaw, pulling Kanon as far off the desk as possible. The iris sphincter muscle relaxed; dilating those beautiful blue eyes the same time another muscle of the same category made room for three of his fingers. This time Schneizel won the staring contest. Kanon's eyes squeezed shut when his fingers were replaced. He bit into bruised lips, drawing blood during the initial trust.

The copper taste was more intoxicating than the most expensive wine. The aging process was not nearly the same, however, Schneizel found blood play just as delicious as a three hundred year old bottle. It was the main reason he only drank both sparingly. Otherwise he wouldn't appreciate the bold flavors as much.

His non-stabilizing extremity was used to brush damp, sweaty, amber strands away from Kanon's forehead. He shuddered with every low, masculine moan. After a while the two became indistinguishable. Kanon's tenor voice always became deeper near his climax, and Schneizel was the opposite.

"This desk will need to be replaced within a year with all the stains you are making, Kanon." He teased, leaning his chin on top of the Earl's head.

Clive Christian should make cologne that combined a hint of post fornication with his usual line. Likely the scent wouldn't be as lovely as what was inhaled at that moment. He murmured his endearments before pulling out, slightly disappointed how the anus didn't seep out seamen.

"Do you plan to just leave me here?" Kanon called out, craning his neck to watch Schneizel exit the study.

"You told me once you wanted to be an escape artist in elementary school. Let's see if you can get out of that one by the time I am out of the shower." Schneizel yelled back, smiling at the crimson blush on the new maids face as he strolled to the bathroom wearing only his birthday suit.

He passed a new maid, a pretty little blonde thing, dressed in a surprisingly sexy number that looked like a cross between scrubs and a maid costume. This was the first time the couple found time to return to their escape since the change occurred, and he couldn't complain about the uniform, at least. She must be Kannon's new hire. That is not to say that he surrounded himself with look-a-likes. Usually he picked one of two women, not necessarily employees, and groomed them until he bored.

No, he knew she was hired based on his friend's fancy, unless her presence was a subtle hint that the second prince was neglecting obligations. Schneizel played the game of politics as perfectly as ever; he surpassed his elder brother without brusquely outshining the mediocre prince. It was personal matters that he ignored. Abigail. The young woman had an uncanny resemblance to the duchess, so much that he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I-Is there a problem, your highness?" She asked, actively averting her gaze when she mustered up the courage to address his staring.

"What is your name?"

"Bethany, sir." She responded, nervously twisting a simple gold band, worn on her ring finger. "I um..." Her eyes widened and crimson covered her cheeks when he smiled, stepping closer. "I um." The more she stuttered, the heavier her New England accent became.

"Your husband is a very lucky man." He said and took her hand, feeling the warm jewelry between his fingers. "Cherish that relationship." Dropping to a slight but refined bow, he bid her goodbye, amused that Bethany kept her eyes trained on the floor or his face the entire time.

Perhaps that should have been enough of a deviation to keep him from comparing the two females. Abigail was nearly as brazen as he, although not nearly as pernicious, as Britannia maintained a double standard in affairs. Polygamy was only legal for the emperor, as decreed by his father when ascending to the throne. Still, extramarital relationships were common, to say the least, except frowned upon in public.

His confidant knew that fact more than most, he gathered.

Kanon was cleaned and shaved, pouring himself an Old Fashion in the basement bar by the time Schneizel sought the man out. It wasn't in his nature to chase after anyone, but there were exceptions to any rule. Besides, it could hardly be called a "rule" so much as a quirk. Cornelia wasn't the only one who enjoyed "Cat and Mouse." [3] Schneizel neglected a salutation when he recognized a delicate frown on the other man's lips. He was still annoyed, or possibly it was a new aggravation. The raw marks on the Earl's wrists could have been an indication. In his jubilant teasing, Schneizel forgot to check to see if the keys to his cuffs hiding were somewhere within reach.

"So, how did you get out?" He wondered out loud, leaning against the pastel green pyrolave.

He was in a bad mood the day they picked out the countertop together too. Every detail was painstakingly procured, and decided upon for sentimental reasons. In all their years together, something prevented him from saying those monumental three words outside of sex. Instead he bought this house, and tailored it around Kanon, hoping the message would come across. The huge of the glazed lava stone, for example, reminded him of Gemini's gemstone, Chrysoprase. This wasn't the first time he wondered if a mosaic of the mineral would have been better, since it's properties were stabilize emotions and preventing depression.

"Your message was delivered flawlessly, as always."

Kanon smiled sweetly, sliding a second drink to the prince. "And what would that be?"

"We will detour to the capital before taking the Avalon on her maiden voyage oversees to Area 11." He paused, resisting the urge to clarify his reasons. "This has nothing to do with **her** …. Per say."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Footnotes:**

 **[1] That entire conversation is a reference to the movie "I Heart Huckabees." If you haven't seen the film, I command you to watch it. Now! It's pretty much my favorite movie.**

 **[2] Quote from when Schneizel was talking to Cornelia in R2.**

 **[3] I enjoy name dropping chapters to other fics, apparently.**

 **It seems I should have gotten more chapters, and a better plan under my belt before posting. Oh well.**

 **Read and review!**

 **Revised 8/23/15**


	3. Goodbye Gawain

**Goodbye Gawain**

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Some external entity guided this event. Nothing happens without reason. There was no such thing as coincidence. Happenings that would be described as such were simply too complicated to be easily understood. Schneizel added to his list a goal to become powerful enough to rationalize such occurrences. The world around him was beginning to become completely baffling.

"What are you going to do?" Kanon whispered, leaning over the commander's chair. The careful, and yet firm grip of that noir gloved hand was felt through the pompous amounts of padding on Schneizel's shoulder. "Schneizel?"

"Fire the weapons." He responded.

The words sounded grotesque, like it was someone else speaking them, and from a far off location. Externally he appeared cool and collected, the epitome of composure. Based on the small, reassuring, circles Kanon was drawing on the fabric with his thumb, he could tell. Of course he could tell. Schneizel stood; ignoring the silent plea to stay once the damage was done.

All that remained of the Lancelot and that Japanese made Knightmare was his own memory. The contents, including the two persons in question, appeared to be vaporized. All that remained of that area was a crater. He didn't want to look at the screen any longer. What Schneizel needed was a good, stiff drink. Scotch. More than a few glasses of the alcohol were required too.

"Take over command, Kanon. Give me the report when it comes in."

"Yes, sir."

His proverbial mask wasn't shed until he reached his personal quarters. That fell to the floor with his jacket, under robes, and ascot. The delicate piece of silk was strangling the life out of him. Even dressed only in his eggshell button down shirt and slacks, he felt heated. Stripping down to his boxers afforded no extra comfort. What was wrong with him? His heart was pounding in his ears; there was a strange sensation that he was drowning. The breath leaving his lungs was uncontrollable, becoming too quick and shallow. It was making him lightheaded.

The Dalmore Single Malt Scotch was drank directly from the container. Schneizel's hands were shaking too much for him to pour the $60,000 liquid into a Swarovski crystal whiskey glass. He uncorked the contents, taking a long, unceremonious gulp, before slowing down to slightly more refined swigs. With a deep sigh he slouched against the unlit fireplace, pressing his flushed forehead against the cool marble of the mantle.

Nothing made sense anymore.

He lost track of how many "Lulus" he killed somewhere around 2011. The year following the real one's death was a blur. The amount of blood dripping off his hands was astounding. Their death was brought from his own hands too. It wasn't so impersonal. He closed his manic pastel purple eyes, finding comfort by remembering his victims' screams.

Asphyxia was his first love. The 3rd year student's name escaped him. She had the ugliest grey eyes naturally. The irises were amethyst when she ceased to breath, however. His actions were crude. He wrapped his large hands around her small neck, and choked the life out of her in one instance.

Since then he made it more of an art form.

During 2010-2011, he developed a habit of slowly depleting the brain of oxygen, causing the girls to hallucinate, and actually believe themselves to be Lulu. For a fleeting moment he forgot also, and it was no longer playing pretend. Each one of them would cry crocodile tears. He made it all better with a flick of his wrists. Sometimes he choked. It was a subconscious attempt to pay homage to the grey-eyed girl. Mostly he slashed their throats with his Anders Högström Snake Eye Gambler [4], watching the lifeblood drip off the mosaic damascus blade. The gore drained on to his hands, and lastly the tile. The cheap flooring was easier to clean, not he did so himself. It was his philanthropy, giving the poor out of work criminals a job to do. With each murder a part of him hoped he could ultimately lay her to rest.

It made no sense for him to be affected by another fantasy. That's what Zero was: a fantasy. He and Kanon had too many conversations regarding the logistics for his desires to be anything but that. The Lulu behind the mask was the same as all the others. Was it because he didn't see her die this time? Was it too much like seven years ago? The lack of a body, somehow, made it too real. Without the corpse, it was too close to the truth. He needed to feel the warm sticky red substance on his fingers, and see the dullness in her eyes.

It was a paradox.

Schneizel turned, and slid down the smooth surface. The shallow groves of the design were felt on his hypersensitive skin. A chill caused his frame to tremble when he was seated on the bare wood. "I should get a rug," he mumbled, before taking another drink. Perhaps he had a fever. That would explain the temperature changes and his body's reaction to Zero's death. He held the back of his hand to his neck. Where was Kanon when he needed him? Oh yes. His one and only friend was commanding the Avalon in his absence.

It was more likely that he was managing damage control with Euphie, considering her Knight of Honor was sacrificed also.

"It's for the best, Little Sister." He said to the chess piece situated towards the edge of one of his many boards. The pink sapphires were a little too telling for his liking. Still, the carvings were beautiful. His artist truly outdid himself with the sub-Vicereine inspired bishop. "It's better to love and lost than to never have loved at all. Honestly, I'm not sure if I agree. It's all just a fantasy. Do I even believe in love? [1]

"The Old English lofian meant 'to praise, exalt, appraise, value.' This came from the Proto-Germanic word, lubōną, 'to praise, vow', from lubą, 'praise'. The Proto-Indo-European 'leub' described a sensation like, love, desire." Running his pointer finger around the rim of the bottleneck, he appraised semantics. "The definition hasn't changed much. It doesn't do justice though, does it?

"It's for the best." He reassured himself this time. "With the prime terrorist of Area 11 disposed of, we can work toward bringing peace back to the settlement. Subsequently, my plans will be put into motion with much more ease. I can't think a better way, not that it matters much... "

Kanon stood at the doorway. Schneizel startled at the intrusion, making a vain attempt to stand before giving up. "I don't count as a person," was always Kanon's argument as to why he was the only human allowed to witness the second Prince in any sort of disarray. He quirked an eyebrow when the other man knelt down, prying the alcohol from his frigid hands.

"They escaped." He said plainly, running his fingers through Schneizel's short disheveled blond hair.

"Oh?" Schneizel's bored response didn't match the flutter of his heart.

"It has to be geass. Kururugi sent out a transmission immediately before we started firing. Something about needing 'to live.' He piloted the Lancelot out of harm's way... That was why nothing was left in the area but a massive crater."

"Does he still have Zero detained?"

"I don't know. They just disappeared."

"Disappeared." Schneizel repeated.

"Yes. Your sister -" Kanon paused, watching Schneizel's eyes go wide. "Euphemia. Your half-sister, Euphemia, has gone missing as well." The dejected prince nodded, pushing his head deeper into the consoling caress. "It's too much of a coincidence."

"I thought you said my coincidence was meaningless."

"I still think so. At least, the one you were fixated on is meaningless. However..."

"It's fate, Kanon."

"You don't believe in fate."

"I do now. We will go to Kamine Island tonight to investigate those ruins. That's the reason we came here, after all. Until then spare no resources in searching for Zero, and, of course Euphie." His assistant nodded and moved to leave the room. "Wait." Schneizel continued, picking up the thoughts that were swirling around his head like cartoon birdies. "I didn't eat lunch. That's beside the point. Was there any other voice on the transmission?"

Kanon looked like he wanted to hide something. He wouldn't meet eye contact and quickly exhaled. "There might have been. I thought I heard female voice in the background saying something about an 'idiot.' I will enhance the audio and send you up a copy shortly."

Schneizel nodded again, positively beaming.

Zero was female. He had evidence of something pointing towards her identity.

She was alive.

It had to be fate.

* * *

He hid his hangover from the Earl well. No, not Kanon; The Earl of Montreal [2] was well aware of Schneizel's situation. He showed his sadistic side by holding the second Prince to his word to meet with another person of the same rank, Lloyd Asplund, that evening. It's probable that Schneizel was still intoxicated, given his actions. The distinction was nebulous. It matched his emotional state, which was another thing only Kanon was privy to. This was made clear by his reaction to the others, particularly one nicknamed "pudding." Unfortunately, that shrill voice did not penetrate the pounding in Schneizel's head like a sweet dessert. It was more like a splinter: painful, and yet not enough to remedy without appearing uncouth.

"Oh my! Who would have imagined a floating aircraft carrier!" Lloyd shouted, spinning around in a circle when entering the lower hangar deck. The vast room was empty sans parts of the recovered Lancelot, and the equipment used to transport the Knightmare. The scientist's voice echoed off the gunmetal grey steel walls. "Didn't you say we should wait for practical application?"

The juvenile enthusiasm made the hairline fractures in the mask Schneizel spent a lifetime sculpting less noticeable. Or perhaps it was that energy that caused such unnoticeable imperfections: slightly tense shoulders; fingers twitching like clockwork, and a too pronounced smile that contrasted impassive features. It was of little consequence. His role of a casual, and yet remarkably august prince was still played to near perfection. Any silent critique would have to wait until his pounding headache subsided.

Anapana meditation was his usual tactic to maintain composure. Breath was an ideal occurrence, existing as a conscious and unconscious action, able to captivate one's focus when done right. It aided him in with interactions when he wanted nothing more than to be rid of annoyances by any means necessary. The slight distraction scattered Schneizel's thoughts enough to prevent him from becoming hyper attentive on one thing, namely obsessions and desires to commit ethically unacceptable crimes.

"Because I am very interested in all the things you have been making." Schneizel responded. Truth be told, at that moment he was more interested in not vomiting on the floor. "I simply had to create one."

"And the Hadron Cannon?"

"I had to try." Schneizel's fingers spasmed, remembering the way the red beams shot out, appearing to destroy everything in sight. "I've always wanted to meet you, Ms. Cecil Croomey. I'm -" He changed the subject. A genuine smirk spread across his lips when she interrupted surprised by his presence.

"Prince Schneizel!"

"How dare you sit higher than the Prince?!" General Bartley scolded the busty blue haired woman, seated on the top of the ladder that led into the cockpit.

The accusation caught her off balance, both literally in addition to the figure of speech. Cecile stuttered through what he gathered would have been an apology, except she found herself tumbling to the floor instead. Not even he was delusional enough to deem a slight spread of her legs, the hand on her arched back, or the pained expression while she whined intentional. Still, he secretly appreciated the event. "Are you all right? My name is Schneizel El Britiannia." He asked, bending at the waist and reaching a hand out. Introductions were pointless; the benefit lied in creating a character possessing both esteem and relatable qualities. Approachable. His father already played the opposite role. "Now, take my hand."

Her unease was felt through the thin material of a white silk glove. With two trembling hands, she held on, allowing him to bear more of her weight when giving aid than necessary. Cecile was by far leaps and bounds ahead of her direct superior in terms of decorum. Due to this, the action caught him off guard. His hangover could also be a contributing factor to the strain. Schneizel abhorred the thought that it could be a weakened state that caused him to come to his conclusion. The way her eyes shine at their proximity, and his chivalrous gesture, did little to ease the complex.

"Think nothing of it," he turned, feigning humility by disregarding Bartley's praise. An ability to follow conversations while not paying attention was also perfected long ago. "You helped me out before, as well as taking care of Clovis. I should be thanking you."

Indeed Schneizel did rescue the other man from a moldy dungeon and restore rank. Nothing was given freely. It was a small price to pay for the knowledge of Code-R that Clovis attempted to hide from him, and the cascading effect his consistency ensued. Schemes and subjugation were his forte. This didn't make the acquisition of more pieces less labor intensive. Without a geass, his plans were forced to be slow moving. After the actions of Kururugi, it the reason behind Zero's rash behavior was doubtlessly that power.

The black rook he commissioned seemed to be obsolete already. Given the new information, it seemed hardly fair to score the terrorist as a 3.5. A queen. Perhaps. The only conflict was which side the witch had the vigilante playing for, if she gave away any details at all. Schneizel's boards were not accurate to the official chess rules. He could have two queens, especially after hearing an unadulterated voice.

His heart skipped a beat as he fought the urge to enter a series of "what-ifs." Only Cecile's hand, still gripping his own, kept the second prince grounded. There was too much to be done this day for him to slip into a fantasy. Whether or not the masked terrorist was a phantom, a ghost of his beloved sister, was outside of his control. Logically speaking, there was no reason to overthink the situation. "It is what it is," or so the saying goes. A more applicable phrase could be "putting the cart before the horse." If Lulu possessed a geass of absolute control, well then...

"Well then, Ms. Cecile, if you'll excuse me." He cut himself off from that trail of thoughts, fearing that a continuation would cause his face to become as flushed as Cecile's when he kissed the back of her hand. Her eyes sparkled. The blue was too dark to be easily covered; the violet would be several shades past perfection. Besides, the notion that a brilliant woman would keep his attention longer was not ready to be tested.

Her embarrassment subsided just in time to question his motives before departure. Cecile composed herself to articulate the words without hesitation. Schneizel stared at the nearby exit sign. His fingers twitched again. A scarcely comparable memory of Lelouch flooded his mind before a gate could be put into place.

 _2005:_

 _Seemingly endless "why trails" are common for young children; Lelouch was eccentric. Not in the sense that her questions out measured her sisters' in volume. Euphemia, who was one year younger, would ask him about the silliest things. Dressed like one of Cornelia's dolls, the pink haired princess would continuously ask "why, why, why," without meaning, or presumably even understanding the conceptions in which she was questioning. The answers didn't matter either. She seemed incapable or unwilling draw connections._

 _Lelouch was antithetical. The raven-haired one would watch, eyes darting, collecting data, with a devotion well beyond her years. It wasn't until the two of them were alone, seated in their unspoken assigned seats, playing chess in the study, that she would vocalize her findings._

 _Schneizel smiled and listened to her analysis, waiting for her to finish. It was only recently that he broke her disgraceful habit of chewing on her hair while musing. Twirling pens or tapping her fingers on the table during pauses replaced it. It was a step in the right direction, surely, and more acceptable means of fidgeting than his own._

 _"So why, then, did Odysseus act in such a manner? I don't get it."_

 _"Because he has the mentality of a churl."_

 _He openly laughed at the way she chewed on her lower lip. Her expression was far too serious for a five year old. Perhaps it was the perceived paradox in her personality that put him at ease enough to feel open, unguarded, and, most importantly, candid. "Why do you describe him like that?"_

" _It means peasant."_

" _That's not what I asked!" She screeched, kicking him in the knee out of embarrassment. How the lethargic child managed to pull her legs out from under her bottom, and swing before he could react was winsome._

 _Schneizel caught the tiny foot on the second attempt, holding the flailing extremity in a gentle grip. "Don't kick." His scolding only made her more unruly. "Lelouch. Stop." He could feel the remnants of caked on mud, caught in her stockings. So that was the reason she sat in such a way today, to keep the evidence of her chasing frogs with Clovis from catching his attention._

" _You're mean! You always look down on me!"_

" _Of course. You are a child."_

" _Maybe that's why Big Brother Odysseus ignores you!"_

" _I've never kicked him." Schneizel smirked. Despite his reprimands, he couldn't help adding fodder to her fire._

 _Her eyes narrowed into slits and she ceased moving. After he released her leg she leaned forward and flicked his white king off the board. The urge to take hold of her protruding tongue with his teeth, instead of his fingers was disturbing, to say the least. He made a note to play this game later with Lulu, lest dwell on this situation for decades. A need for her was becoming too frequent for his liking. The tiny squeal of protest was nearly too much to endure. He let go like her saliva was scalding._

" _No. It's because he doesn't care. He's the oldest. You said he doesn't think like you and me. He doesn't think he should be scareded of you."_

" _Scareded?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're too keen, given your ignorance. That's a compliment, by the way; I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you for coming to that conclusion. So don't kick me again. [3]"_

"It was indeed me, Ms. Cecile, as was the hadron burst." Schneizel's features hardened and his lax stance became rigid. The imposing air was not dichotomous to his father's aura, sans the dead look in his eyes. "In such situations, one must decide on one's priorities. If something unexpected happened, we may have been able to save him. I gambled that Euphie's knight and special dispatch pilot Kururugi Suzaku could make it out of there."

"R-right, I understand." Cecile straightened, casting her vision to the floor in shame. "I apologize. I was rude, as the general said."

"Not at all." He lied. The bit of genuine emotion shown was only the tip of the iceberg. "I am at fault, for not protecting my subordinate." He turned, anxious that too much was being revealed. "I'm sorry."

He neglected to mention that his apology had little to do with the knight. Often times vague answers were superior to specifics. Let them infer what they want. The search for Euphemia and Suzuka was more in hopes that the opposition was stranded in the same location.

* * *

He didn't miss pulling all nighters. Even in the height of his academic career, Schneizel never found the habit of his peers, cramming before finals, necessary. In spite of, or possibly because of his issues, and superior intelligence; he found free time for extracurricular activities. The time Kannon spent studying, he experimented with various means of avoiding and living out his delusions. Sometimes both acts were played at once. The inability of his partner(s) to participate in the same level didn't bother him on most days.

No one suspected his bloodshot eyes had nothing to do with his sparkling transcripts.

The sun was rising by the time Lloyd finished connected the prototype Knightmare, Gawain, up to the artifacts found in the cave. Schneizel maintained a cool air, contradicting the rage the burnt within him at the delay. Leave it to Clovis to provide such shitty directions to the location. His alarm went off twice before Schneizel decided to silence his mobile. The reminder texts from Kannon were without reply.

He prioritized scotch over Thorazine[4] the afternoon before. Dinner was neglected, and so was that dose. At this point neat little bells or vibrations did little to sway his actions. The withdrawals should have been prompt enough. It explained his behavior more than a hangover. Given the severity, another something else must have captivated him enough to neglect schedule too. Twenty-four hours shouldn't be this intense.

An interest in the architecture of the area was used to conceal his jitters. Kamine Island was chock full of little details begging to be examined. It was unfortunate the single chamber contained nothing at the entry. There was little room to pace, not that he would do such a thing in public. The Thought Disturbing System, security system, and decorations were all near the entrance to the Thought Elevator. The farthest he could wander without suspicion was the second pillar, at the end of the platform, which contained scripts left by the ancients.

Schneizel pretended to read the glyphs as he ran the palm of his right hand over the etchings written into the reef limestone. The meaning of the delicately carved symbols slipped through his wavering digits. The involuntary gesture was subtle. It was likely he could have read them at some point, if he was in the right state of mind. The carvings definitely had meaning to his sire. The man had, obviously, more than his lifetime to research. Schneizel knew there were more than recent discoveries. This fascination wasn't recent, dating back to before succession. Regardless, whatever lay behind the pitchfork marked door would be analyzed by the Gawain. His father paving the way made it easy for him to catch up. The Emperor lived in the past, not the present. He could have the old temple as long as Schneizel has enough data imported into his projects.

Lloyd and Bartley didn't know.

They wouldn't know.

They would know even less if he took the medication. It would only take an hour to kick in, and he could easily handle himself that long. Schneizel was well versed at keeping up appearances. But what if they saw? He fought the urge to reach into his breast pocket and remove the small round orange pill. His other hand twitched, more pronounced than usual.

Twitch might not be the right description. It was slower, and recognizable to someone fervent as he. As fervent as he was at a young age, would be a better account. The act of using prayer beads was similar in the major religious traditions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, and Sikhism. Sliding the mala stones over the middle finger with the thumb, specifically using the left, or non-dominant hand was the tradition of Buddhism. Rosaries, what he used most as a child, were often clutched with both hands. He couldn't remember when he abandoned that habit in favor of the former.

Schneizel's hand was empty, and yet the slightly scratchy texture of his worn amethyst beads was still keenly felt. Of course they were amethyst, what other gem would he have chosen? Even though he was in high school last time he touched the necklace, muscle memory was exemplary. He mimicked the movements with each inhale, not feeling far gone enough to resort to anything demeaning.

Besides, to whom would he pray?

As a teenager, the serenity prayer was his favorite. "God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." He would recite those words over and over, sometimes going over the seven decades more than once. [5] They were favorable to creeds, or devotions. Simpler. It was the first step towards taking responsibility. After locking himself in his room, reciting religious poetry for hours to quell the episodes with no avail, he became jaded.

It's fascinating how humans revert to archaic beliefs when distressed.

The stone surface became too much, and the second prince paced back to the duo with casual precision. The wires appeared to slither like snakes. Blue and black cords glittered in a way that was reminiscing of movement. Dear Lord, he hated snakes. One of the reasons he clung to the remnants of his faith in Christianity during episodes was due to the advisory, an interpretation of the darkness within God herself, was reptilian. Some irony existed in this recurring hallucination and his affinity towards technology. He shifted his gaze before scales began to form in his mind's eye. Bartley and Lloyd didn't even bother to look up when he approached. His paranoia of being found out was for naught.

Besides his mother, there was only one who knew of Schneizel's situation.

He could sense the weight of Kannon's elbow on his shoulder. How his friend was capable of leaning on him as he walked was beyond the prince's comprehension. The population of the entire world rested on the padding. All but a select few were numbers. Not in the sense of racism. They were general bodies to be counted. Britannian or not was of little value. Everyone, even he, it seemed, shared the same insecurities at the end, or in this case, middle of the day.

It was a game of schemes and subjugation in a grand scale. The whole idea of such shining ideology was built upon fear. The Emperor rejected such teachings, or rather applied it to his own convictions, using the phrase "all men are not _created_ equal," to his advantage. All that seemed to exist in this world was fear; Schneizel's hands were clammy from the effect of the dreadful feeling. His ingrained desire to reach for something outside of himself for solitude only heightened his trepidation, considering he knew the Creator he prayed to in his youth was not present.

Perhaps this was why the decline of religion was present mostly in technologically advanced countries. As humans became more self-sufficient, the need for a responsive God declined. The rituals that remained were lukewarm, at best. On the contrary, the first example was most evident when looking at situations that drove Sixes to perpetual piety. Starvation and poverty was part of their daily lives. A political system, built with the notion that their lot in life was to be subservient to their masters, brought no comfort.

Instead it was an unforeseen master, unless taking the crucifix into account, which provided solace. Their practices were leaps and bounds away from lukewarm. It was the coffers of the elite that kept the Vatican in business, and yet the downdraught and degenerates of society were Catholicism's loyal customers by volume. Schneizel did not fit into either of those molds. If one were to side with the often disputed studies that as higher education increased, religion decreased, he became even more of an enigma. He also refused to tithe. God had little, if anything, to do with church.

As always, it would appear that the answer lies in the middle way. That is not to say that Schneizel followed the Eightfold Path, and he certainly committed his fair share of sexual indiscretions, along with having the verification of his affairs removed. His ideology was a combination of the extremes taught by his father and mother with some independent research mixed in the proverbial stew. The only difference between him and Kannon was a dispute of definitions.

Even knowing about 'that place,' Kannon denied the existence of God, finding the collective unconscious outside the meaning of the title. What his majesty aimed to destroy was nothing more than a byproduct of humanity. She was hardly anything to be considered Holy. His lover believed contact with magical beings could be attributed to a vivid imagination.

Schneizel had enough experience with delusions.

"A Thought Elevator?" Lloyd's grumbling brought him back to reality. The scientist finally finished hooking up a multitude of lines to the Gawain. "I'm no archaeologist, and I don't really know anything about super-humans…"

"Hold your impudent tongue!" General Bartley scolded.

"I'm just not my specialty. You should have asked Ms. Cecile to do this."

"Don't be so stubborn." Schneizel finally declared, speaking faster than usual. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back to avoid squirming. "My father's taken a liking to this little discoveries. Hasn't he, Bartley?"

"Indeed. Several more like this have been found around the world. Other than this one, which I discovered myself, they have all been placed under imperial control. I'm just speculating here, but I believe our recent invasion have been centered around areas known to contain these devices."

"The Gawain's Druid system, that beautiful prototype begging for optimization, was built based on the analysis of this occult data?"

"That's why I called you, of course."

"Aha!"

Schneizel's eyes widened when the center stone, shaped like a pyramid, became semi opaque and shot out a beam of light. The abstract pitchfork began to glow red so bright it altered the whole room. With barely leashed concern, he looked over to Lloyd, hoping the turn of events was a shared experience. "What's going on?" The scientist asked, frantically pushing on the keyboard.

What he originally assumed to be an earthquake was a matter of fate. Some external entity guided this event. Nothing happens without reason. There was no such thing as coincidence. Happenings that would be described as such were simply too complicated to be easily understood.

Seeing Euphemia, Suzaku, Zero, and some random teenage girl (probably the attendant of Zero) fall through the ceiling on a platform made it obvious that his convictions were not wrong. By the way the others were responding the addition wasn't an illusion either. He was not alone in this experience.

The four seemed to be in some sort of stand-off, separated by sides. Zero stood with a pistol drawn with the attendant flanked, ready to pounce. Euphemia and Major Kururugi were on the opposite end, looking worse for wear. His half-sister was rightly disheveled; her Knight appeared to be in some sort of trace. The teen's behavior was strange, considering whom the Thought Disturbing system was meant to ensnare. It couldn't be. In order for him to be caught in such a trap, it would mean… but then… Schneizel was too ensnared in a web of jumbled up sentiments to make sense of anything.

So this is Zero in the flesh, He thought. The news reports didn't do the phantom justice. That form was more sylphlike in person; those slender legs seemed unearthly elongated. Despite the black and purple hues, there was something ethereal about her. Her. According to Kanon the enemy of the state was a woman. He watched as she effortlessly jumped from the platform to the Gawain, crawling inside the cockpit.

As he watched his prototype Knightmare glide and then fly away, Schneizel questioned his choice. He looked just as haggard as Kururugi, with dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep and withdrawls. There was no guarantee he could have detained Zero if he ordered the guards to neglect Euphemia. That would have gone against his character mold, so he couldn't do that even if he wanted. Besides, then he would have his answer. Zero's identity. He wasn't ready to know yet. What if the person was not Lulu? What if it was? Arrangements needed to be made for either event. He needed to mentally prepare.

Patience was a virtue.

"The Gawain…. Our Gawain!"

"Don't worry, it's just a prototype." He said, smiling at Euphemia and Major Kururugi. "I'm glad to see you both safe."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Footnotes:**

 **[1] Theme of the Series right here :)**

 **[2] Kannon's title.**

 **[3] This scene reminds me of what Schneizel says to Lulu in the first chapter of this story: "You are every bit the woman I imagined you would become. The only difference is I hoped we would play on the same side."**

 **[4] anti psychotic medicine**

 **[5] rosaries are counted as "decades," for ten beads.**

 **Put part of the last chapter in this one because really it just fits and my formatting was stupid before.**

 **Revised 8/23/15**


	4. Clovis' Wish

**Clovis' Wish**

"I'm going to be in the Chinese Federation starting tomorrow."

"This is sudden..." She replied, picking a petal off one of the rose buds. Schneizel turned from the pond to watch. She toyed with the lush greenery in silence. Her long blond hair framed her features, hiding whatever purposeful expression from view. It was possible that hiding was the performance. She was always less poised at this location. The Aires garden was remained her least favorite, despite the beauty. "Your father already had multiple wives prior to taking the throne." She continued, lifting her cobalt blue orbs to pierce into his soul.

He didn't respond.

Abigail hid her disappointment well, or it was likely she wasn't at all concerned that their engagement would be prolonged again. The last time it was at her request. She came to him the day before her eighteenth birthday, asking if he would wait a little longer. "It's Carson," she said at that time, strangely shy." I want him to be at the wedding. I want him to be there as my sibling, and not just as random guest in attendance."

She was regretting that decision now, pushing the wedding back over a full year so that she could get her bastard brother back into the family. Little did she know the reason why her father was so concerned about lineage, or how her mother's adulterous actions came to light. [1] Her fingers lingered, staring at the newly revealed anther, before she pulled off the last of the corolla. If he didn't know any better, Schneizel would have guessed she was playing Effeuiller La Marguerite, or "He loves me, he loves me not," in English. He knew that was too childish of a game for Abigail. That innocence was stolen from her long ago. Besides, she already saw his answer.

"Kanon will update your secretary on my schedule, once I decide on the duration of my stay." His voice was dull, like the two were discussing business rather than sentiments.

"I will come with you."

"There is nothing suited to you there."

Her eyes narrowed at his instantaneous and unapologetic slight. He quirked a brow, waiting. It wasn't until his scrutiny slipped, and his gaze wandered once again to the water that she reacted. Abigail sidestepped to force herself back into his line of vision. The satin of her dress, between a cerulean and aqua color, shimmered in the sunlight. Somehow the short woman managed to depict an air of acquiescent and demanding at the same time. Years of court intrigue surely seemed to be paying off for her. He could feel the smug satisfaction seeping out of her aura when the diamond brooch on at pinned to her petite, and yet curvaceous hips attracted in his attention.

"Doesn't the amount of time we spend together bother you? I swear we speak more through our staff than to one another." She pouted. Schneizel chose to let the comment, of Kanon being mere staff, slide. He knew that she was just upset. In a way the slip up was endearing. "I'm your fiancé; we are engaged. Shouldn't we act like it?"

Betrothed would have been a better fitting term for her to use. Engagement implied that there was proposed date, something set in stone, or moving towards that end. The stone, a massive rock on her delicate ring finger was present. It had to be re-sized multiple times, of course, as their marriage was arranged when the Lady Chapman was even smaller than her current stature. At least he had a choice in the matter; a match made for political gain, prepared solely to acquire exclusive mining rights of the sakuradite located in the duchy of Oregon.

A smile tugged at his lips at the irony of it all. Lelouch was sent to Area 11, Japan, for the ore. This wasn't the first time he wondered how differently it all would have played out if only Erza broke ground sooner. The destinies of the two royals were tied closer than originally predicted. Only he wished that it would be his younger sister following in his footsteps, and not the other way around. Sadly, the likelihood of a civil war breaking out in the homeland, and he becoming missing in action, was indeed slim, to say the least.

This decision would have to be seen through, so why did he procrastinate? It would be a white lie to say his hesitance was due to heeding Abigail's whims. Perhaps his precarious position prevented him from understanding family loyalty. Still, if he so chose, it would be within his power to coerce the wedding at a particular day, time, location, or any other detail.

"You have been gone so much since Clovis died. I was under the impression that his political agenda was limited to Area 11." She continued, lacing her fingers with his.

Schneizel saw Bruce, her chaperone, become enthralled with a cone shaped topiary out of his peripheral vision. The prince sniggered. Those days of having an overbearing third wheel watching his every move were long gone. Only Bruce's shaved head and black suit remained of the once stereotypical bodyguard. The other man even put on a few pounds over the years. He brought her soft, perfectly manicured and pampered hand to his lips, leaving a satirical peck on her knuckles.

Abigail didn't know the half of it. That idiom was flattering, considering Schneizel was unquestionably left in the dark too. It was only recently, since the death of his half-brother that a flashlight appeared in the form of a hidden file. While visiting the Warwick Place, Gabrielle, overcome with grief, confided in him that she "couldn't send a maid up to his room, but was afraid to see what her son was hiding up there." Clovis had always looked up to Schneizel, and although never participating in specific fetishes, did have a philandering streak.

He didn't envision finding anything incriminating in that bedroom. The decoration was the same as when the two were children, with comprehensible additions. Few spots of chocolate brown and gold walls were left barren. Whether covered with paint splatters from when he was quite young, or exquisite murals made during later years; it was all to be expected. Not even the theater props, saved due to some sentimentality, surprised him. He suspected that Clovis' spot for saving souvenirs was hadn't changed either. Therewithal, at the ripe age of seventeen, still in secondary school, was when Clovis volunteered for the position of Viceroy, and set off for Area 11.

"I want to make Area 11 somewhere peaceful for Lelouch and Nunnally to rest," was his thinking.

Remembering it made Schneizel sick.

He was about to leave with small stack of playboy magazines, and photos of women in "swimsuits," when a particular shade of chartreuse jumped out. It was on accident and only once that Schneizel was unfortunate enough to run into the teenage girl at the Aires Villa. She was some friend of Marianne's, a commoner of extremely low blood most likely, since both were secretive in their meetings. It was odd, to say the least, that Clovis would hold on to such a photograph. Even odder was the fact that it seemed recent.

The girl glared at the camera, possibly upset that her backdrop was white washed walls, and not a beach scene. A gruesome scar just under her right breast caught Schneizel's attention first. It was awful, using the archaic, literal use of the word - to leave one filled with awe. The puffed purple keloid scar wasn't to his brother's usual taste. Ordinarily, Clovis preferred his women to be flawless, something they both shared - except Schneizel wouldn't have minded creating such a mark himself.

C.C.'s photograph was separated from the rest, and placed in Schneizel's breast pocket. What an odd name; it wasn't even a name. [2] Simple deduction reasoned that to be the case, considering it was scrawled on the back with a set of number. An identification code would be his best assumption. Then again, he never assumed. Schneizel knew this to be the case as it was the only logical explanation.

There was another person with an affinity towards being called by initials alone. A child called V.V., who brashly suggested Schneizel call him "uncle" the one and only time they met. The interaction took place during Marianne's funeral. At the time Schneizel paid no heed to the boy, believing him to be another one of Marianne's elusive confidants or like Anya; a child placed that was to be placed with the Vi Britannian family for etiquette training.

He always found it peculiar that woman was the one conducting such lessons. She was nowhere near the model courtesan, to say the least. Lulu was indeed a carbon copy of one who gestated her. Or he imagined her to be. Charles barely gave the children time to blink before sending them off to Japan.

Abigail persisted in her prattle. He was only half listening; that was a generous and erroneous appraisal. Schneizel maintained enough presence to guise his wandering mind. At some point the conversation, thankfully, shifted from secrets, and back to planning. Wedding planning was her topic of choice, as always.

One would think they were done with such trivialities by now. Weren't women supposed to have these events planned since childhood? So why did she insist on rehashing details repeatedly? The only logical explanation was boredom. There was no other motivation to discuss flowers again.

"Iris." He interpreted. "Instead of roses for the centerpieces."

"Let me guess, purple ones?" She grated.

"Am I really that transparent, dear?"

Abigail rolled her eyes, letting some of that lustrous character shine through her facade. She was more entertaining this way, and he hoped her airs would disperse after the ceremony. They would need to find other conversations of choice. Schneizel could barely remember the last time they chatted about a point that was not politics or parties. He could only wonder if married life would be more or less dull than his current antics, not that he planned on being faithful.

* * *

With more than a hundred brothers and sisters, it would be arduous to appoint a black sleep of the royal family. After a while subsequent siblings mattered less and less; the expectations placed on Edmund's tiny shoulders, born just last week, were minimal. It would take a lifetime of strenuous service and skill to bring the boy to the status of Carine, who was fairly useless in her own right. Perhaps Odysseus would be a better example. He was favored simply for existing, and no real action. There was a slight chance there was more to the mediocre prince than what met the eye; it was unlikely. Nevertheless, with the discovery of Clovis' position as a pompous idiot being, at least partially, a ruse, Schneizel was forced to consider other possibilities.

It was hard to imagine that his-half sibling was the cardinal of this occult religious order. Harder still was coming to terms with the reality that geass actually existed. Up until this point his deductions were based solely on the findings regarding Code-R, a vaguely documented project that dealt with genetic manipulation. At first the lab reports read more like fiction. Schneizel accepted the supernatural because it gave him hope that his own selfish endeavors would be satisfactory. His most recent test subject, Orange-kun, was indeed pumped full of C.C.'s cells anticipating that Zero's identity would be revealed at some point during the process. An ulterior motive perpetrated every plan.

"Charles won't be happy to hear that you found this place."

Schneizel smirked at the small boy, surrounded by cloaked disciples, waiting for him at the end of the long hallway. The child chilling on oversized chair looked exactly as the second prince remembered. So it was true. At the time of their last meeting he was too flustered and immature to notice the resemblance. Both parties possessed beach blond hair, and should he have grown, Vincent's facial structure would have mirrored his own. They looked similar enough; it was an innate illation.

There was nothing innate about immortality.

"It's been a while, Uncle. Have you gotten taller since we last met?"

An asinine expression cut through the code-bearer's cool exterior before the twinkling of his eyes was replaced with a steel glare. V.V. seemed to be fighting the urge to stomp his feet. A grown man trapped in the body and maturity level of a ten year old - it was interesting indeed. The tale of Peter Pan was wanting of realism. "All children, except one, must grow up." It would appear that line described a mental state, and not physical attributes. Even geass could not avert time from taking its toll on the heart and mind of the one afflicted. It was biological development that prevented V.V. from properly articulating his growth.

"Was this the reason you volunteered to act as ambassador to the Chinese, to find me?"

"Being outwardly conceited is undignified." Schneizel chided, once again moving down the long underground corridor. "My role of Prime Minister has a laundry list of duties."

"Don't scold me."

"My apologies."

Schneizel stopped himself from giving the explanation that he "wasn't very good with children," knowing that it would only worsen the situation. He liked to play games and take risks, but only up to a certain point. Waltzing into the Geass Directorate was treacherous enough. The Emperor's warning from seven years ago, to "leave well alone," rang in his ears. Here's to hoping that his conjecture regarding the circumstances of Marianne's death were correct - that the bad blood between his uncle and father was diluted only by a shared goal, and not long lasting love.

V.V. silently shooed his entourage away. It was undetermined whether or not Schneizel was meant to follow suit; his only companion was Kanon. There were no secrets between the two men. Plus very few people knew that the Earl was a trained assassin. His uncle clearly took Kanon's serene trustworthy smile at face value, considering he didn't contemplate his situation long before pulling the small lever that opened the lavishly large entrance to the underground city.

On the other hand, there was little for the immortal to fear. He could suffer a dagger to the forehead and be unscathed. The weapon need only be removed for the cells to regenerate, closing the wound nearly instantaneously, compared to the rate of healing those without the code could conceive, that is. Danger undoubtedly meant something considerably different to those possessing the code. Schneizel felt a chill run down his spine, causing his toes to curl as he walked, at the memory of what was contained within the files of Code-R. One would easily assume that V.V. could live through the trials the witch endured as well. Certainly he had every right to act foolhardy.

The place reminded Schneizel of the movie "The Mole People," although he couldn't quite pinpoint why. Not only was the 1956 flick was only seen via MST3k, or Mystery Science Theater 3000, a show Kanon and he enjoyed in their youth. [3] The layouts were not similar in the slightest. Only the height of the ceiling was reminiscent. One need only add a synthetic sky in order to complete the illusion of London prior to Napoleon's occupation of the city. [4]

Schneizel breathed a sigh of relief when the trio passed a modernized version of a traditional old jailhouse. Rotting in a cell was not on his to-do list for the day. V.V's lack of a desire to detain them suggested they were not foreseen to be foes.

"This doesn't mean that I trust you." V.V. stated.

His actions abetted those words. The pint-sized leader of the organization lead Schneizel and Kanon down the streets, cutting through laboratories when necessary. If the startled looks on the scientists were any indication, they didn't receive house calls very often. Clovis also made little mention of this area of research in his diary.

The likelihood that the artist couldn't comprehend the details would have been his first guess, however, that corollary was no longer based on self-evident fact. Clovis knew more than he left on. Sure, he was a schmuck at strategy and tactics. Chances are his inability to gamble is what killed him, or rather, caused Zero to mercilessly end the Viceroy's death.

What a waste of a wish.

"Sakuradite may be the most powerful crystal in terms of weapons technology. I won't work for what you are really aiming to do here." Schneizel said, finally referencing his working theory of the nature of the geass order, when they passed a particular station.

A fire engine red haired technician openly gaped at his evaluation. The young man was just out of grad school, by the looks of his demeanor and physical attributes. His nails tapped nervously on the granite countertop of his workspace. A Petri dish, presumably containing trace amounts of the mineral being researched, sat beside a Leica M165 C high-performance stereomicroscope. The molecular structure shown on the screen of the computer to the person's right solidified his suspicion.

On the outside this base was deemed as a military research facility for anyone digging deep enough to come across insufficient data. The Britannian government actually was colluding with the Chinese Federation. After all, his negotiations earlier today pertained mostly towards how high of title would be given to the eunuchs for their participation. Still, how the pieces fit together was still beyond his reach.

The study of material sciences was not what he anticipated. Code Ragnarok specialized in extracting DNA from C.C., and finding multiple applications for the atypical proteins. Immortality was one area of research, and the reason why Clovis kept photographs of the woman after heinous investigations. Few pictures survived of the subjects unfortunate enough to be injected with the beta solution after they were exposed to comparable carrying out of tests. Enough remained for him to firmly say it was not going well at the time of her attempted transfer.

Another, more successful area, was fabricating geass with medical augmentation. Unlike contracted powers, these were limited to bodily advantages, such as enhanced speed. The side effects, and a dependency on the drug, delayed mass distribution to the military. [5] The failure to synthesize geass without genetic implantation also was a setback, despite there being no shortage of ways to farm from C.C.

Neither of these looked to be the inspiration for cells to be shipped to this site. Had they switched gears since the last report, or was he witnessing something entirely different? There had to be a common factor.

"It may be called the philosopher's stone; the name means nothing. Amethyst would be better at amplifying psychic abilities." He continued. [6]

V.V. tensed momentarily, leading them to another building devoted to crystallography without a response, and one that was more to his calculations. The test subject here was his uncle, although he did not undergo unethical experimentations. More so the aim was to compare the structures between his proteins and C.C.'s, in hopes that a way to create a second code could be found. His uncle voiced discontent at the results. What little Schneizel knew of molecular biology was applied to coming to the same conclusion: There was no way to effectively clone a code-bearer, and altering V.V.'s genetics undoubtedly wouldn't activate the Sword of Akasha either. The system wasn't susceptible to such trickery.

"The rest is just dorms for the scientists and those whom I have given geass." Schneizel quirked an eyebrow before it all clicked. This place was a breeding ground, of sorts, documenting the correlation of the wish with evolution of the power. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing else here that would interest you, nephew, unless you want to ask for my gift."

"No." Schneizel sneered, catching even Kanon off guard with the amount of genuine emotions exposed. "There is nothing I desire that is outside my reach. I don't believe I would have a very powerful ability. You might not trust me, Uncle, yet I have faith you will not inform my father of our visit."

"What makes you think I am just going to let you leave here?"

"Because it's in your best interest. I'm more useful to you free then detained, and I have no incentive to divulge what I've learned today."

He didn't wait for a reply. The absence of one signified that his argument was well received; no personal prevented their leave. Kanon exhaled loudly when the duo was once again on the surface, and assaulted by an adequately timed gust of sand laden wind. The trek to his private plane was brief. They were already "in town," so to speak, so the high speeds of the Avalon were unneeded.

In addition, the point of a secret base was to remain secret. Even the elements agreed, clearing the evidence of their footprints at the entrance. His uncle would keep their visit a hidden from the Emperor for the time being. Indecision was written all over poor Vincent's features. The "man" had one fatal flaw - his immortality. He would never grow out of being juvenile and unsure.

"Only you would walk into the lion's den and come out unscathed." Kanon muttered, tending to his hair in the mirror.

The interior of the jet contained a full bar, and Schneizel prioritized a stiff drink over smoothing down his unruly strands. He poured two rocks glasses of scotch, leaving one on the top of the stainless steel mini-fridge. The sleep inducing cream-colored couch was calling his name, but there was still work to be done. Coffee would have calmed his nerves, providing a pick-me-up as well. It was unfortunate he despised the bitterness of the drink. Instead the uncomfortable captain's chair was given the task of keeping the insomniac from dozing off.

He used the small camera of his laptop to quickly make himself once again presentable as the Skype call connected. Kanon wasn't satisfied, it seemed, since his assistant turned the swivel chair, and worked wonders. A confused sounding Bartley stuttered, imagining god knows what from his limited vantage point on the other side of the screen. Only a quick peck was shared after his lover gave an approving nod, and left to pilot back to the Forbidden City.

Schneizel need only provide his John Hancock before he could crash on his king-sized bed on the Avalon for the entire trip back to the mainland. Some sex surely would penetrate his and Kanon's slumber.

"I've completed negotiations with the Chinese Federation, so I will be going back to the mainland," Schneizel said, and swiveled his chair forward, resting his cheek on his curled fist. He medically tapped at the transmission box on the monitor. Something must have gone wrong, considering no new reports were waiting in his inbox. The general's disposition was unchanging, and his flat voice said more than words. The words that were spoken, a question if Orange-kun was to remain in Area 11, prompted his own inquiry. "Yes. What do you think?"

"There is a limit of what we can do in Area 11."

"I see." Really, for a seasoned soldier, Bartley was fairly spineless in the face of royalty; Kururugi contained more courage on Kamine Island, when confronted with yet another court-martial. "I'll make a call to the Rosenburg Laboratory. Will you send the subject there when I've made arrangements?" His tiny grin turned down to a frown.

"Understood, Sir. Also, about the ruins on Kaime Island…."

"We'll talk about that when Area 11 is under control. That's what the SAZ is for. We should really thank Euphemia. Thanks to her, it looks like everything will go according to plan."

* * *

 **Footnotes: [1] Super spoilers for Dauntless**

 **[2] reference to episode 6(?) of the anime**

 **[3] I need this back in my life!**

 **[4] I have no clue if this is really what the geass order looks like. I watched R 2 ep 14 and the layout looked like boring blocks.**

 **[5] Nightmare of Nunnally reference**

 **[6] Spoiler for "To Shatter Stones," in CM.**

 **I'm a little nervous about this chapter. Even though it doesn't seem to say anything, there are a lot of spoilers in here for Dauntless (although this fic is going to diverge a lot from Allora Gale's one. I meant to just steal a character and then I created this whole back-story in my head) as well as Checkmate. I didn't even list them all. There might be some for Feminine Rebellion too, but that is in a different sequence of events, and isn't going to go anywhere near this fic (who would, it's scary!) but I may or may not keep the workings of the Geass Order the same. I am quite indecisive.**

 **Read and Review! I quit my job so now I just have school, parenting, and fanfiction writing to worry about xDD Sending me love (or hate) reviews keeps me motivated to update BTW.**


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